


so servile it's vile (part 2)

by likecharity



Series: so servile it's vile [2]
Category: British Comedy RPF, Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Awkwardness, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Open Marriage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Verbal Humiliation, kinda sorta, taking photos during sex acts, there isn't a good tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 14:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17530784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: Alex seems so sure of himself when it comes to his desires. Despite how awkward he got about it, all the blushing and the stammering (and the crying, that guilty part of Greg's brain reminds him), Greg could tell that none of this wasnewfor him. It might have been difficult for him to admit certain things but it wasn't because he didn'tknowthose things about himself; he was merely shy about it. As odd as it seems, Alex seemed comfortable in his position of submission. He knew he liked it, he'd done it before, and he knew the reactions it would bring from him.And then there was Greg, just absolutely winging it, like a fool.





	so servile it's vile (part 2)

**Author's Note:**

> I SUPPOSE I did end on a cliffhanger before...
> 
> Thank you so much to [Sashataakheru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru) for the beta services and all the support. ❤️

In all honesty, Greg is fucking reeling. He busies himself making the tea, hoping Alex doesn't notice the way his hands are trembling. Jesus, when's the last time his _hands trembled_ , this is ridiculous. He doesn't even know how to classify half the things he's feeling. It's been a long time since he's experienced this many emotions simultaneously, and truthfully, he's not a fan. There's certainly awkwardness, that's the one making itself most known. And there's guilt, too, a bit of self-disgust—and yet somehow, still, arousal. And then there's an overwhelming sense of _relief_ that he doesn't quite understand just yet.

When he turns around Alex has settled himself on the couch, looking slightly more presentable now apart from his stained jumper.

"Here you go, then," he says brusquely, handing Alex one of the mugs and trying to act like this is a normal situation instead of the weirdest thing that's happened to him in ages.

"Oh, thank you," Alex says with a quick little nod of his head as he takes it.

God, this is excruciating.

Greg sits down next to him on the sofa, cupping his own mug in his hands and looking at it. He doesn't even _want_ tea right now, but the hot drink seems to be soothing Alex, and that's what really matters, seeing him slowly starting to look more like his normal self as they sit there in silence. He knows he offered to talk, but now he realises he's lost for words. He has absolutely no clue what to say, where to even _start_. This situation's so surreal. He remembers Alex saying "shameful in the bad way" and tries to focus on that—making Alex feel better about what's just happened. As if he's in any way qualified for that sort of thing.

"It really is okay, you know," he attempts, awkwardly. "Nothing to beat yourself up about, having unconventional desires, if it's not hurting anyone."

Alex gives him a sidelong glance. "Seems like you need to be told that more than I do, right now," he says, irritatingly perceptive.

Greg can't help thinking, _but I_ did _hurt you_. Maybe not physically, but breaking Alex down emotionally like that—surely that wasn't just some harmless kinky fun.

He sips his tea just for something to do. "I suppose," he says, and then they sit there in silence for a bit longer, the words hanging in the air.

"But you did like it?" Alex asks eventually, and Greg is vaguely annoyed that Alex is taking control of the conversation, but at the same time incredibly grateful. "You liked, er, humiliating me?"

It's strange to be confronted with it like that, to hear it said in such simple terms. It's not like Greg only just realised; he's not stupid. He knows he's always felt more excited than he should, when Alex does certain stupid things in public just for his amusement. He knows he's been pretending to be egging him on for the comedy factor but that, in truth, it makes his heart race, and he thinks about it far too much. But he didn't know how he was going to react to all of this, didn't even know how he really _felt_ until it actually happened. 

"I did, yeah."

"You're um—you're aroused by it," Alex prompts him further, and of course he'd use the word _aroused_ , Jesus Christ.

"I appear to be," replies Greg, though he's going soft now that he's having to face the aftermath of his little experiment, coming down from the high of it.

Alex looks confused for a moment and then sort of bewildered. "You mean—you didn't know?"

"Not until about fifteen minutes ago," Greg admits. 

It's embarrassing, actually, having to say that, and look at Alex's startled little face. It feels like Alex still needs him to be in charge, Taskmaster Greg, confident and knowing. He feels a weird sort of pressure not to let himself show _vulnerability_ ; it feels wrong, after what they've just done.

Besides, Alex seems so sure of himself when it comes to his desires. Despite how awkward he got about it, all the blushing and the stammering (and the crying, that guilty part of Greg's brain reminds him), Greg could tell that none of this was _new_ for him. It might have been difficult for him to admit certain things but it wasn't because he didn't _know_ those things about himself; he was merely shy about it. As odd as it seems, Alex seemed comfortable in his position of submission. He knew he liked it, he'd done it before, and he knew the reactions it would bring from him. 

And then there was Greg, just absolutely winging it, like a fool.

"So you didn't—" says Alex, slowly. "But how could you not—" he stammers. "I mean, you _came into my dressing room_ —you _locked the door_ —you obviously had _some_ kind of a plan—"

"I know, I know," Greg interrupts crossly. "Listen, I knew it was—a fixation. And all right, I knew I _liked_ it, but I thought—" he sighs, frustrated with himself. "I don't know what I thought! I guess I thought maybe I was just a run-of-the-mill, garden variety sadist, not—not a _sexual_ one."

Alex looks completely baffled. "Why would that be better?!"

"I don't know, all right?" Greg snaps.

It's sort of horrible, how out of his depth he feels right now. He's been putting on an act—apparently such a good one that Alex couldn't even tell—and now he feels like a fraud. Of course, Alex is right; he planned this. He'd been thinking about it for a long, long while. All right, not since the very start—that was an exaggeration. His suspicions grew slowly, taking shape over time. He developed theories, and tested them. He was nothing if not thorough. He wanted to be sure (as sure as he could possibly be) before actually confronting Alex with his final conclusion. But still, he was never really going to _know_ , not until the question had finally left his mouth, and all that was left to do was wait for Alex's reaction.

He'd thought it through many times, wondering what the result might be. It was always difficult to imagine. It certainly didn't seem like the sort of thing that anybody would readily admit to, but he also found it hard to imagine a flat-out denial. He was so confident of Alex's perversions, but he could never really know how confident _Alex_ was of them, how willing he'd be to actually talk about it. And so there was always a point where his imagination got stuck, snagged. Really, the only options were that Alex would say yes, or he would say no. If he said no, Greg supposed he would be forced to go along with it, and if he said yes—well, Greg was always planning on exploiting that.

But he didn't think it would turn into _this_.

"I just wanted you to admit it," he says quietly. "I really, really wanted that. I knew it would bring me pleasure of _some_ kind to make you—" he breaks off, struggling to explain. "But I didn't _really_ know."

He wonders now if, deep down, there was more to it than simply deriving pleasure from Alex's humiliation. It was such an _urge_ , a desperate need to make Alex admit to the things that had turned him on—he honestly doesn't know how he would have coped with it if Alex had refused to play along, kept his mouth shut. He _needed_ Alex to confess, and maybe part of it was that some dormant part of him knew that he was getting off on the very same situations, and he needed to know that it wasn't just him. Perhaps that's the intense relief he's feeling: relief that he's not alone.

"So you've never—you've not done anything like that before?" Alex asks, like he can't quite believe it. Greg shakes his head reluctantly. "Well. _Well_ , you're—bloody hell, you're a natural."

Greg can't help but laugh a little at that. "Cheers. I mean, it didn't feel that different to how I've treated you in public," he points out. "And, I mean—I'm not a total novice, I've had some rough sex in my time, and I've said some stuff, you know, _oh, you like that, you filthy slut_ —that sort of thing." He sees how Alex flushes a little at the words. "But no, you know, nothing on _this_ level."

"What—what made you—you know, I mean, why now all of a sudden?" Alex asks.

"It's been a long time coming, Alex, I wasn't lying about that," Greg tells him. "I suppose I just lost my patience."

It's true. He'd chosen today mainly because he couldn't stand it anymore. He thought about asking Alex in the morning, in fact, before they'd started filming, but he dithered for too long and in the end ran out of time. He could've blurted it out right before they went on stage, but then Alex wouldn't have even been able to formulate a response, and Greg needed the answer to be immediate. All day the question felt like it could have burst out of him at any moment—any time Alex did anything remotely unusual Greg was desperate to draw attention to it in a way he never had before. By the end of two episode recordings, his adrenaline was at an uncomfortable level and he had to force himself to wait a few minutes before proceeding with the ambush. He liked the idea of giving Alex time to change, as he usually did right after the show, while Greg tended to hang around, sometimes leaving in his suit if he couldn't be bothered changing 'til he got home. He didn't know why, but something about the idea of staying in his suit in these circumstances appealed to him—he thought, perhaps, it would help to keep him in character, make Alex more likely to spill his secrets.

He wishes he still felt like he was in character now. Right now he feels like he's got no fucking idea what he's doing. He never could've imagined the evening ending like that, Alex curled up on the floor, crying, _broken_. He didn't know he had it in him to _do_ something like that to another person, and part of him feels so horribly guilty he's sick with it, but another quieter part, deeper down, is thrumming with excitement. 

It was almost like—a game. Seeing how far he could push it. And it was addictive, the way he could make Alex bend to his will so _easily_. Beautifully. He thought surely there'd be a moment when it had gone too far, when Alex would finally refuse—but he went along with _everything_. Greg shouldn't have been surprised, really; it's always been this way. There's been many times on the show when he's tried to tell Alex to do something, privately thinking that he wouldn't, but Alex has always, always followed through. Tonight has just been an extension of that. Everything Greg asked, Alex answered; everything Greg commanded, Alex did. A part of him kept waiting for the "no", the "stop", the "okay, Greg, that's enough" and it never came. And then it was over, and Alex was crumpled on the floor at his feet, sobbing and spent.

He sighs. His tea's getting cold and he swigs the rest of it down even though he doesn't want it. 

"Listen, it's getting late, and I could do with something a bit stronger than tea. D'you want to—" he's about to offer to take Alex to a pub, but quickly realises they can't exactly continue a conversation like this one in that setting, so the sentence changes course halfway through, "—come back to my flat for a bit?"

Alex goes pink. "Oh," he says. "Oh, I don't—I'm not sure if that would be okay with—with my wife. You know, if I'd be...allowed."

"Oh." Greg wasn't expecting that. "Well," he says, not knowing how this is supposed to work, "why don't you call her up and ask?"

Alex frowns at him like he's said something wrong. "No, I mean—I think I'd better have a proper discussion with her about it, you know, if this is going to become a thing."

"A thing?"

"You know, like, if we're going to keep doing this."

"...This?"

Alex seems flustered. "Greg, you know what I mean. This. You...doing things to me."

"Well, that's really cleared things up, Alex. Cheers, mate." 

It's maybe a bit mean, but he feels frustrated with himself and his instinct is to take it out on Alex. Perhaps he's being dense, but he just really isn't clear on what Alex is talking about. They could probably have a repeat of tonight's particular performance—Alex has surely got plenty more embarrassing things to admit, and Greg would enjoy making him talk about them—but he has a feeling that Alex is referring to something _more_ , and it bothers him that he doesn't know exactly what that would involve. Maybe he just doesn't dare wonder what sort of things Alex might want them to get up to; maybe he's spent so long in denial that his own mental blocks are too sturdy and he's going to need help breaking them down, loath as he is to admit it. 

He sighs. "All right, it's fine, we can probably stay here a bit longer—you know, I've got some whiskey in my dressing room, are you all right now if I go and get it? I'll grab you that jumper while I'm at it."

"Yes," Alex murmurs. "Yes, I'm fine now, thank you. That would be nice."

Greg nods curtly and gets up, putting aside his now empty mug and leaving the room. It's fairly quiet outside now, but he can tell they're not the only ones still here. The studio won't close for a while yet and it's unlikely they'll be bothered, so maybe staying here a bit longer is a decent plan. In a way, maybe it's better than taking Alex back to his—he'd said it without really thinking it through and he supposes it _did_ sound a bit suggestive. It's probably better that they're on neutral ground, while they figure things out.

He retrieves the whiskey from his dressing room, along with a grey jumper he finds in a small heap of clothes he's left lying about. When he opens the door to Alex's dressing room again, Alex jumps slightly, nervy. He's got his phone in his hands, his mug set aside.

"Only me," Greg says, locking the door behind him again reflexively—even if nothing further is going to _happen_ tonight, he doesn't want anybody walking in on a conversation like this one. He tosses the jumper over the arm of the sofa. "Let me guess, your wife's wanting to know where you are."

Alex looks shifty. "Yeah," he says, "but not—not in a naggy way, she just—thought I'd be on my way home by now."

"And are you telling her why you're not?" Greg enquires.

"Um, sort of." Alex looks embarrassed. "Vaguely. I mean, I need to tell her about it properly in person."

Greg can't help being a little amused at this. "Oh yeah? You get to tell her all about how I finally deigned to indulge you in all your weird little desires, hm?" He puts on a voice and claps his hands together, miming childish glee. " _It finally happened, he finally told me what a pervert I am!_ "

It's hard to imagine how Alex would explain what happened between them tonight, but then, for all Greg knows, maybe it was just another Tuesday for him. Maybe he's actually _used_ to things like this; wanking off at people's feet, getting scolded and humiliated 'til he cries. The thought seems completely bonkers to Greg, but, what does he know, really? Now he almost feels like he's turning it into a bigger deal than it is, if Alex can be so blasé about the idea of describing it to his wife.

Alex has gone a bit pink, though, and says nothing, still texting. Greg would love to know what he's saying, but figures it's none of his business. Not really. He unscrews the cap on the whiskey and sloshes a decent amount into each of their mugs, trying to act like this is all perfectly normal. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alex put his phone down and then hesitate for a moment before pulling his jumper over his head. He tugs at his t-shirt self-consciously, then folds the jumper neatly, placing it beside him before reaching for Greg's. Greg notes how his fingers brush the soft fabric and linger there slightly longer than necessary before he pulls it on. It really wasn't intended to be a significant gesture, lending him something—the jumper's spare and Alex seemed genuinely bothered about staining his own—but now he's wondering if Alex is seeing some deeper meaning where there isn't one. Giving him his jumper, it is a bit of a cliché. Like Alex is his secondary school girlfriend or something.

Alex straightens the jumper, looking down at it, and Greg can't help smiling—it does dwarf him, he has to push the sleeves up past his wrists, bunching up the fabric. Greg clears his throat, proffering Alex's mug, and Alex snaps to attention.

"Thank you," he mutters, taking it, and Greg sits down beside him again and for a few moments they don't speak at all, just quietly sip at their whiskey. Greg feels the burn of it as it slides down his throat, and thinks, _yeah, this is what I needed._

He's only had a few sips when the question bursts out, unbidden:

"Are you—you know, sexually attracted to me? Feels like something we should get out of the way."

Alex sort of gulps. "Well, it's more about, um, your—your dominance, your authority, really—"

"Stop mincing words."

"Sorry," Alex apologises instantly. "Sorry. Right. Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I mean—basically, yes."

"Right." 

Greg notes that Alex doesn't bother asking the same question back, and he doesn't know if it's because Alex already assumes he knows the answer, or if he just doesn't care either way. Greg's not even sure _he_ knows the answer, so it would be a bit rich if Alex claimed to.

He doesn't _think_ he's attracted to Alex, but he has to admit it's confusing, because there's definitely _an_ attraction. That's certainly been made clear by the massive fucking erection he got earlier. But was that really because of Alex himself? It's hard to imagine having _sex_ with Alex—any kind of sex—without this particular twisted dynamic they've created for themselves. He doesn't think he'd want it without that; the appeal is in dominating him and knowing how helplessly turned on Alex would get as a result. It's not Alex in himself, though his kinks are so inextricably linked to who he is as a person that trying to untangle the two from each other makes Greg's head spin. Maybe now he understands the reason for Alex's difficulty answering what seemed like a simple question. Maybe it's Alex's submission he's attracted to.

He can feel the whiskey loosening his tongue already. 

"You were going to suck me off before, weren't you," he says. "If I hadn't stopped you."

Alex twists his mouth. "Well, I—I—"

"Ah ah, just say it," Greg interrupts, already sensing a whole lot of stammering coming up. "Would you or would you not have sucked me off?"

Alex still hesitates. Finally: "I would have, if it's what you wanted."

"If it's what _I_ wanted? What about what you want?"

"I want...to do what you want," Alex explains haltingly. "But...yes, I mean, I definitely think you could do it in a way that I would...enjoy."

Again, Greg is puzzled. "Is it not something you enjoy as a rule?"

Alex colours slightly. "Oh. No, I mean—no, it definitely is, it's—oral sex is actually something I really like to um, give—to both men and women," he says, flustered, and Greg frantically fights off the mental images, "but I meant, I think if you were to—if it was an extension of our...dynamic...rather than just, sex. It would be particularly enjoyable. That's, um, that's what I would want."

"Jesus, the whiskey is making you even less intelligible than usual," Greg says snidely, mainly to give himself a bit of time to try and interpret what Alex is saying. "D'you mean you like it rough, is that what you're saying? You'd want me to fuck your mouth?"

Alex almost chokes on a sip of whiskey and goes bright red. "Greg," he splutters.

"I'm just trying to cut to the chase here," Greg says, but he can't help enjoying how easy it is to fluster him. It feels like a whole new world has opened up now that he can says things like that, things much more explicit than he can get away with on TV.

"Well—well, it's not—I mean—I don't _not_ like it rough," Alex gets out eventually, looking very intently at his mug. "But what I meant was, you know. The psychological aspect."

"I see," says Greg, except that he doesn't really see, because Alex is awkward and cryptic.

"I mean if you were, um, demeaning me," Alex says. 

"Elaborate?"

Alex sighs and rubs at his face with the back of his hand. He's clearly struggling with the topic; and Greg sort of feels bad forcing him to talk about it, but also not really, because they both know it's necessary. Besides, there's still a distant little part of him enjoying the blush on Alex's face, the difficulty he's having getting the words out. He still doesn't know _why_ that brings him pleasure but it really, really does. 

And apparently he's not the only one enjoying it. "Greg," Alex whines, "you're doing it again."

Greg can't help but laugh. "I'm not even trying to."

"I know, you're just—you're really, really good at it." Alex looks up at him out of the corner of his eye, a shy smile on his face.

"Well, pull yourself together, Alex, I'm trying to have a genuine conversation with you here," Greg scolds, and he knows that's only going to make it worse, but he can't help himself.

Alex nods, trying to do as he's told. He takes a sip of whiskey and then another one, licking his lips anxiously and fidgeting with the handle of the mug. "See, sex isn't—um, the goal, for me," he starts. "If you were to, um, just insult me a lot and maybe—maybe h-hurt me, and I just, er, got myself off, that would be—even if you didn't let me touch myself, actually, that would be—enough. For me. Sex isn't, er, the main...the main thing."

"Right," says Greg slowly. "So it's, er, more about the humiliation, then?" (He doesn't mention the pain, doesn't know quite what to do with that particular information besides file it away for future reference.)

"Yes," Alex affirms. "And if—I mean if sex was incorporated into that, that would be great, but it's...I mean I can...I can get off on the other stuff alone." He pauses and swallows, still studiously avoiding eye contact. "So, you know, if you weren't, um—comfortable—er, having sex with me—that's, you know, it's fine. If you just want to do the—the other stuff, that's—more than adequate."

Greg suddenly finds himself very interested in his own mug. "Right, yeah," he says.

There's a pause, and then Alex's voice goes slightly higher in pitch. "I mean, _is_ there— _is_ there other stuff, that you'd um—that you'd like to do to me?"

"Jesus, Alex." Now _Greg_ feels his face getting slightly warm. Probably just the whiskey. "I honestly haven't thought about it." _Haven't_ let _myself think about it._

"No, sorry, of course, God."

"Listen, this is all very—" Greg cuts himself off. He doesn't want to say _new to me_ ; it sounds so stupid. He doesn't know how to phrase things in a way that _doesn't_ sound stupid, but maybe the way it sounds doesn't matter, maybe all that matters is honesty. He owes Alex that, after everything Alex has given him tonight. He's shared so much of himself, it's only fair that Greg attempts to do the same. "I don't understand it," he says finally, staring at the last bit of whiskey in his mug. "It's something I don't understand about myself, and frankly, that's unsettling. To feel something so strongly—" he hears Alex's sharp intake of breath, "—but not know where it's coming from. I mean, I shouldn't have enjoyed that, making you blush and cry, making you miserable."

"But I _liked_ it," says Alex instantly, eagerly. "In a way, you were actually making me happy. Technically."

"Technically," Greg echoes wryly. He finishes off the last slug of whiskey. "Listen, I'm not going to get all 'woe is me' about it, it's just fucking weird, all right? I'm still...adjusting."

"Of course. I'm sorry," Alex murmurs. He mirrors Greg, drinking the rest of his own whiskey. "I just thought, maybe it would help if we, um. If we talked about the kind of things you like."

"Listen, don't think you're going to flip the script here, you little prick," snaps Greg, defensive anger suddenly flaring up in him. "That's not how this works. If you think you're going to embarrass _me_ , you're sorely mistaken."

God, he can _see_ the change in Alex the moment he gets harsh like that—his spine straightens, and he bows his head. Something about the control there is thrilling.

"No, of course not, I know, I'm sorry, s-" Alex cuts himself off abruptly. " _Sorry,_ " he says firmly. "I honestly just wanted to know."

Greg sits back, plonks his mug on the table, stretches. "All right," he says. It's not like he's too shy to talk about sex, it's just that he doesn't even _know_ what it is he wants. He tries to think. "All right. You want to know what I liked about tonight?" Alex nods nervously. "Well. I certainly liked making you admit to all those things you found so shameful and humiliating. I imagine there's plenty more where they came from."

Alex is blushing again, or still. "Mmhm," he says in a small voice.

"Yeah, probably _lots_ of terrible filthy secrets I could pry out of you," Greg goes on, and can't help the slightly evil smile he feels beginning to spread across his face. "Things you never thought you'd admit to _anyone_ , but you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

Alex nods again. He seems to be folding in on himself now, making himself small, his shoulders hunched as he stares down into his empty mug. 

"And I liked making you kneel. Having you at my feet, looking up at me," Greg continues, thinking back. He didn't expect to like it so much, though now he thinks maybe he should have seen it coming—when Alex mentioned the dog bed he remembered how it felt to have him curled up at his feet like that, how it sent a weird little spark of excitement through him. It wasn't the first time Alex had been on the floor in front of him either. It's always been an easy way to exaggerate the power imbalance between them and it's always brought Greg pleasure, even before he knew what to make of it.

"I liked that you were dressed like that and I was in my suit," he adds, and that one sounds a bit silly but Alex nods like he understands. 

An image flashes into his mind of Alex kneeling at his feet, stripped naked, and he's a little alarmed to realise how much he wants that. It's not—not about wanting to see Alex's body (he's seen enough of that during the filming of the show, surely) but about making him even more vulnerable and exposed. Naked while Greg is fully clothed, perhaps even in his suit again, just to emphasise the contrast. He can feel himself starting to get hard again, and he reaches down to adjust himself in his trousers and sees Alex's gaze flit sideways as he notices.

"I liked seeing you obey me," Greg says. "I liked that you did what I said even when you found it difficult." He ponders that for a moment, thinking of how far he's pushed boundaries, on the show as well as this evening. "You _always_ do it, you always do what I say, and you _can't_ always want to. I know you like being humiliated but sometimes it's something else, sometimes it's just—gross," he thinks of making Alex eat dog biscuits and old fish chowder, of making him deal with his spat-out food, "and you've never, _ever_ complained. You've _thanked_ me, if anything. You're just—obedient. To a degree that's almost insane."

Alex's lips quirk, and now, now he's not just blushing, he's _glowing_. It's as if Greg has paid him a compliment of the highest order.

"I like seeing you struggle and do it anyway, because you know it'll please me," Greg says then, and it's like it's only just hit him, that _that's_ what it's all about. "I like how much you want to please me. It's like you'll do—fucking _anything_ if it's what I want. That's—" he falters, "it's _hot_ , I don't fucking know why."

"I think it's because you like to feel powerful," Alex speaks up, and it's only then that Greg realises how long he's been silent. "And you like being in control of me. You like having power over what I do and how I—how I _feel_." 

Greg is about to object to this but then he thinks about all the little ways he rejects Alex just for the sheer hell of it—it'll be funny, he always thinks, it's funny when Alex acts like he's spent all this time making a gift, for example, specially for Greg, and then Greg just destroys it without a second thought. People laugh. It's funny. But maybe Alex is right, maybe that's not all there is to it. Maybe it _is_ about the power. That hope in Alex's eyes, those few seconds where it could go either way, where he might think Greg is going to be nice...and Greg has the power to crush that, take it away from him just because he feels like it.

"I think you like feeling like you own me, like a—like a possession. And you like making people work for you, for your attention and your praise," Alex goes on, very quiet and serious. "I think you like pushing me because you like seeing how far I'll go. What I'm willing to do, to prove—prove that I, um." He cuts himself off abruptly, starts again. "You like it when I act like I adore you, worship you."

That one's a bit hard to take, too; Greg doesn't think his ego is _that_ out of control but again it's hard to argue. It's the whole concept of the show, after all, and he can't pretend like it's not fun for him, pretending he has all these minions catering to his every whim. Surely that's not that deviant—surely _most_ people would enjoy that feeling. And he has to admit that he does like it when Alex in particular fawns over him, when he acts like Greg is his whole world. He just does it so _well_ , so convincingly.

He's not sure how he feels about how well Alex seems to understand him, possibly even better than he understands himself. It makes him feel sort of hot and prickly, exposed.

"All right, I didn't ask for psychoanalysis," he snaps. "I wasn't actually done talking, you know. I don't remember asking you to take over, telling me what I like, like I don't know it myself." 

Overly defensive, perhaps, but he feels a rush just from talking like that, scolding him. It just feels so _good_ , especially now that he knows for certain just how much Alex loves it.

"Sorry," says Alex instantly, hanging his head. He keeps picking at a chip in the glaze of his mug, compulsively.

"Stop that," Greg commands, "stop fidgeting." He snatches the mug out of Alex's hands and slams it down on the table. "Are you not paying attention?"

"No, I—I am, I'm sorry," Alex babbles, "I really—I just—"

"You know what I really liked?" Greg interrupts. "I liked controlling when you could come." Partly he just wants to shock Alex a little, but it _is_ true. He never would've anticipated it but the power was intoxicating; seeing Alex fight his own desperate urges, feeling like he had more control over Alex's own body than Alex himself. 

Alex makes a small noise.

"You liked that too, I expect. Feeling like you had to—prioritise me. Like you had to give me what _I_ wanted before you could experience any of your own pleasure. Like orgasm was a _reward_."

Alex says nothing, but he's nodding fiercely.

"And I liked how you reacted when I threatened to punish you," Greg goes on. "Yes, I noticed. You like that? Being punished? For being _bad_?"

Alex squirms. "I—I like being good. I try to be good. But—yes, sometimes it's—yes."

Greg remembers the first time he explicitly gave Alex a punishment on the show—the time Alex allowed Al Murray to bribe him, and Greg made Alex take off one of his shoes and socks and stay like that for the rest of the recording. It was off the top of his head, just something silly and harmless, but he does remember feeling a strange sort of thrill every time he glanced down throughout the show to see Alex's one bare foot. Particularly, he remembers, during the live task, seeing Alex walk around on stage going about his usual duties like that. Greg was oddly glad that he had happened to come up with a punishment that was so prolonged, so that every time he looked at Alex he was reminded that Alex was doing something he'd told him to do, because—because he'd been bad.

Yes, maybe Greg likes the idea of punishments too.

"God, this conversation's bringing back my stiffy," he admits. Alex doesn't say anything but he's eyeing him hopefully, and Greg can read him like a book, knows exactly the sort of thing he wants him to say. "You got me hard, Alex," he chides, "what are you gonna do about it?" 

"I—I can take care of it, if you—if you want," Alex stammers. "With, um, with my mouth. Or—or just, my hand, if that's—all you'd want—"

Greg stares at him. Yeah, okay, this is really happening. He didn't want it before, felt scared almost when Alex made a move. It was okay for _Alex_ to be getting off on what they were doing—he was the pervert, after all, Greg told himself—but Greg was wary of crossing that line. Now, however, that line seems awfully thin. It seems so easy, now, to just tilt his head and say, "Yeah? Well then, I think I'd like your mouth."

Alex just looks at him for a few seconds, like he literally can't believe this is actually happening, which, is also kind of an ego trip if Greg is being honest with himself.

"Would you really let me?" Alex says eventually.

"Are you allowed?" Greg asks, because, in spite of everything, he still doesn't want to overstep the mark here. He doesn't know what the rules are.

But Alex nods, glancing quickly down at Greg's crotch. "If it's what you want, Sir."

The word hits Greg deep; he's not expecting it and yet, somehow, it feels so unbelievably right. Alex is staring at him and without thinking he grabs him, manhandles him off the sofa and onto the floor between his legs. Alex is breathing fast, his chest heaving, a pink flush high on his cheeks. He doesn't seem to know where to look, his eyes darting from Greg's face to his crotch, to down at the floor.

"Go on then," Greg tells him, "what are you waiting for? Get my belt undone."

"Yes, sorry," Alex mumbles, reaching out, and Greg can't help it—

"Ah, 'sorry'—?" he prompts, putting his own hand over his belt buckle, blocking Alex's touch.

"Sorry, Sir," Alex says breathlessly, and his arousal is so evident Greg doesn't even know how to deal with it. He really, _really_ gets off on this, and it shouldn't still cause so much wonder, surely they've established it all by now but—that look in his eyes, those big black pupils, his twitchy, eager excitement—Greg can't get over it.

He moves his hand, crosses his arms instead and watches as Alex fumbles to unfasten the belt, genuinely struggling with it in his hurry. The too-long sleeves of Greg's jumper keep slipping down over his hands, hindering him.

"If you can't even undo my belt I've not got much faith in your cocksucking skills," Greg taunts, and Alex goes redder, biting down hard on his lip as he yanks at the leather strap, finally pulling it free.

He pushes up his sleeves determinedly and manages Greg's fly with more care, focusing hard on the button and the zip and letting out a shaky exhale when he gets it open, sees the bulge in Greg's briefs. He touches it gently and Greg hears himself sigh, too, at the contact—Alex's fingers feeling out the shape of him, stroking, slow. He wants to tell Alex to get on with it but honestly he's enjoying this; the way Alex is touching him like it really _matters_.

Eventually Alex darts a questioning glance up at him and Greg answers it with a nod, and Alex reaches for the waistband of Greg's briefs, slowly pulling it down to expose his cock. It's a simple action but still something of a shock, and for a split-second Greg's mind clears, the haze of senseless arousal abruptly replaced by anxiety and second thoughts as he wonders if this is a mistake. Up until now he may have been able to make-believe that this is just a game, an experiment, but this—this is the point of no return. And what if this is the one boundary that he should have left well alone? What if he's finally gone too far—?

And then Alex's tongue is on his cock, and his brain goes utterly blank.

He moans, letting his head roll back against the wall, and Alex is licking him the same way he touched him, slow and exploratory, _tasting_ him. He remembers Alex saying—saying he wanted to be _demeaned_ but right now Greg's not sure he can speak. Which is stupid, really, because Alex is barely doing anything, tongue just gently teasing over him, but maybe it's all the build-up over the evening—hell, over the _years_ —something Greg didn't even know he wanted, finally happening.

Suddenly Alex's phone buzzes quietly from beside them and Greg feels a stab of guilt, thinking of Alex's wife. Clearly they have an arrangement, but still—it's _weird_ , doing this with a married man. It's only natural to feel guilty. What's probably less natural is the other thing it makes him feel: a little, subtle thrill of excitement. He wouldn't feel that way if she was clueless, he tells himself, it's only because he knows they have permission. 

He feels Alex stop, and looks down at him uncertainly, but Alex only glances at the phone and then turns his attention back to Greg, wrapping a shaky hand around the base of Greg's cock and leaning in. Greg can _see_ how on edge he is, how much he wants to do this right, make it good for Greg. 

"There you go," Greg murmurs encouragingly, "go on, show me—show me how much you want me."

"Yes Sir," Alex says quickly and it's almost involuntary, automatic. And then he's ducking his head and Greg feels his mouth close around the head of his cock, warm and wet, tongue sort of fluttering against him.

Greg can't help but stare down at Alex's head in his lap, and at his other hand where it's perched timidly on Greg's thigh, half-covered by baggy sleeve, his fingers only just visible as they press into Greg's trousers. He's taking him deeper, easing him into his mouth, and Greg wants to _do_ something, bark orders or simply push his head down, fill his mouth all the way but—he's frozen. Finally Alex's lips meet his hand, and Greg expects him to pull back off, but instead he lets go, forcing his mouth down further and further, throat opening up, tight and slick and hot.

"Fuck," says Greg, a little stunned. 

Alex's throat clenches and he makes a little sound, not quite gagging but definitely struggling, and yet he holds himself there for just a second more. Greg can feel his face pressed up against him, the slight scratch of his beard, and then he's coming back up with a slight cough. He looks up at Greg almost shyly, as if he doesn't know how he's going to react. As if Greg could be anything other than impressed. His lips are wet and his face is red and for a moment Greg can't seem to say anything at all and then he manages—

"You're good at that." His voice is hoarse and he's sweating, has to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. "Dirty boy."

Alex whimpers slightly and immediately takes him back into his mouth, apparently spurred on by the words, drawing Greg's cock over his tongue.

"You've been gagging for it all evening, haven't you—" Greg says haltingly, struggling to formulate sentences. "Desperate. Helpless little—"

Alex lets him go just long enough to murmur a " _Yes_ ," swallowing him back down.

"Would've done anything I told you," Greg gets out, and it's coming a little easier now, excitement coursing through him as he brings back the images of Alex getting himself off, so humiliated, so ashamed and _doing it anyway_ , because Greg wanted him to. "Thought about—thought about making you hump my leg," he murmurs. The words are just flowing now, almost without his permission, and this time Alex moans around him; he feels the vibration of it. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Already know you like being treated like a dog. Maybe that's all you'll get next time—won't let you use your hands, just have to rub off on my leg—"

Alex sort of trembles, both hands clutching at Greg's thighs now, and he pulls off, kissing now instead of sucking, clumsy and messy but with a reverence that makes Greg's heart race.

"What else," asks Alex, his voice quiet but urgent as he nuzzles Greg's cock, "what else would you—please, I wanna know, please—tell me what you'd do to me, what you'd make me do—"

Greg doesn't even know what he's going to say until he hears the words leave his mouth.

"Take you over my knee. And I'll do it, too, if you keep stopping."

Alex lets out a soft gasp and Greg knows immediately that he's hit on something particularly good, everything about Alex's body language giving him away. Even with the threat—or perhaps _because_ of the threat—he's thrown off enough that it takes him a good few seconds to get back to work.

"Already know you liked being in my lap, wonder if you'd like it so much if I was spanking you 'til you were bruised," Greg continues, and Alex swallows him down as if grateful, as if saying _yes, yes please_ , and Greg thinks maybe he should be surprised or taken aback, but sheer excitement is clouding everything except _want_. "Yeah? You'd like that? Being bent over my knee like a naughty schoolboy?"

Just then there's another quiet buzz from Alex's phone, and Alex is distracted this time, pulling off to glance at it. Greg is genuinely a bit annoyed to be interrupted, but he finds himself exaggerating it just to wind Alex up. He sighs with frustration, snatching Alex's phone off the sofa cushion and holding it up in the air. Alex's mouth is slack, wet; he doesn't say anything or make any move to stop Greg, just watches.

"I'm getting the impression you're not fully focused on the task at hand," Greg snaps.

Alex looks at it blankly, then drags his eyes over to Greg's face. "No," he says vaguely. "I mean. I'm sorry, Sir. You're right. I should—I should be completely focused on you and your pleasure."

"If your wife wants to know what you're up to so badly, maybe I should tell her," Greg says, and he's not really—thinking, caught up in it, this role he's playing. It's so easy to get lost in.

Alex breathes in sharply, says nothing. His pupils are wide.

"Yeah? You'd like that, hm? If she knew you were sucking me off right now because you just couldn't help yourself. What should I tell her, hm? _Sorry, love, he got a little overexcited,_ " the screen's gone dark now but Greg looks down at it anyway, as if he could be reading their private conversation. " _Had to let him get me off before I let him leave, just to calm him down._ "

Alex has gone very still and silent. He's just kneeling there and breathing very fast. He looks like he's in a daze, like he's—somewhere else. Actually, it's a bit weird.

"You all right?" Greg murmurs softly, coming out of character for a second.

Alex sort of shakes himself; it looks like he's pulling himself out of some deep daydream or something, like it takes a moment to remember how to speak. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, mmhm, it's good. Keep going."

_Keep going?_

For a moment Greg's stumped; doesn't know where to go with that, and then—

"Maybe I won't bother telling her anything," he hears himself saying, "maybe I'll just take a picture, send her that."

Alex doesn't say anything but he grips Greg's thighs with more force. That vacant look in his eyes like he's somewhere far away seems eerily familiar even though Greg can't quite pinpoint a time that he's seen it before. Something tells him it's a good sign rather than a bad one. Now that he's sitting back Greg tries to see if he's hard, and it's difficult to tell with the hem of Greg's jumper covering his crotch, but it certainly looks like he might be. 

"Yeah?" Greg prompts, and Alex gives the tiniest nod this time, almost imperceptible. "Take a picture of you sucking my dick, show her how dirty you're being, how desperate you were to get it in your mouth—?"

He'd thought that Alex being reminded of his wife right now might kill the mood somehow, but it seems to have enhanced it, which is...interesting. 

"Go on then," he demands, quickly swiping up on Alex's phone and bringing up the camera. "Pose for me, then, show her what you're up to."

Alex gulps and seems to steady himself for a second before quickly ducking back down, this time holding Greg's cock in his hand and bringing it up to his lips, looking up at Greg—not at the phone, but at _Greg_ , and the look in his eyes is needy, pleading. Greg's heart leaps into his throat as he taps quickly with his thumb to take a picture before he overthinks it and chickens out, and Alex whimpers at the shutter sound, parting his lips to get Greg's cock back inside his mouth. He sinks down and Greg takes another picture, not so explicit this time as it's mostly just a view of Alex's head in his lap, but it's still clear enough what's going on. It feels so much more exciting than he would've thought, a little touch of guilt making it all the more intense as he tries to tell himself it's not that big of a deal, the pictures can always be deleted if it's a misstep.

But he wants to make it more real for Alex, wants to make him think he's really going to send it even though both of them know the phone is locked. He knows that this is a particular type of humiliation that Alex definitely gets off on, the idea of other people knowing about his proclivities. His wife probably knows it all already, but it certainly still seems to excite him, the idea of her seeing him sucking another man off, knowing exactly why he's going to be late home. 

"Better be careful with these, hadn't I?" Greg says casually, bringing up the images on the phone. Swiping between them while he feels Alex's mouth working on him is a dangerous combination. "Better not accidentally send them to anybody _else_ in your contacts list."

Alex moans around him helplessly, and Greg's brain goes blurry with pleasure. Alex is getting so into what Greg's saying that he's losing his rhythm, the blowjob getting noticeably messier, less practised. Greg can't truthfully say he cares all that much because Alex's mouth still feels fucking incredible, and he's getting lost in his own words, getting carried away—

"Better make sure I don't _accidentally_ open Twitter, too," he teases. "Imagine if that went out online, hmm? A picture of you on your knees for me, your mouth full of my cock..."

He finds himself with his other hand on the back of Alex's head, keeping him there, beginning to guide him, and Alex isn't complaining. 

"I know you're loving this, you dirty boy, but I expect you to be able to bring me off even if you are so turned on you can't focus." Alex makes a muffled noise again, and Greg goes on—" _Tens of thousands_ of people seeing this, Alex. Seeing you proving your devotion to the Taskmaster in such a dirty way. Some of them would laugh, wouldn't they? Laugh at you on your knees looking so pathetic, so desperate to have my dick in your mouth. And some of them would be so shocked, but then, I bet a lot of them wouldn't be shocked at all."

Alex fully trembles now, spluttering as Greg holds him down, clutching at Greg's thighs. Pleasure buzzes madly down Greg's spine and he struggles to keep talking as the feeling intensifies, his hand firmly cradling Alex's skull.

"Some people wouldn't be surprised, would they? Some people probably assume you've been—been servicing me like this all along." His voice is getting shakier as he gets closer to orgasm, as he guides Alex more roughly, pulling him on and off his cock. "It's your role, after all, isn't it—to do what I want, to make me happy. And I can show you off to whoever I please—"

It's that thought— _showing Alex off_ —that makes him come, gasping out a warning that Alex pays no mind to, and then moaning louder than he ought to in a thin-walled dressing room. He feels himself go over the edge into mindless bliss, Alex's throat working around him all the while, swallowing steadily until he's got nothing more to give.

Finally, Alex is easing off and Greg is coming back down to earth, cursing under his breath as his hand slips from Alex's head. The next thing he's aware of is Alex gently tucking him back into his briefs, even tucking his shirt in too before diligently doing up his fly and fastening his belt. He seems to be on autopilot, and Greg expects him to sit back up or even stand, when he's done, but instead he suddenly rests his head in Greg's lap. Greg is taken aback, feeling the heat of Alex's cheek against his thigh through the fabric of his trousers. Alex is still breathing fast, his eyes closed now, eyelashes damp.

"You all right?" Greg murmurs, and Alex gulps and nods, wordlessly. "You sure?"

"Mmhm."

"Did I break you again?" Greg teases.

"Mmhm." Alex smiles suddenly, his eyes still closed as a bright, goofy grin spreads over his face. "It was wonderful. You were wonderful."

Greg can't help but pet him, stroking a soothing hand over his forehead and then over his hair, patting softly. He's so very, very weird, but also, sort of adorable.

"You weren't so bad yourself," Greg says. He glances down at Alex's phone still in his other hand, and feels suddenly uncomfortable. "Listen, I didn't—obviously I didn't, er, send them anywhere, but d'you want me to delete those pictures?"

"Oh," says Alex, raising his head slowly. He moves like his bones have been turned to jelly; swaying on his knees as he tries to straighten his spine. "No, that's—that's okay."

"It is?"

"Mm."

Greg leans forward, elbows on knees, and hitches up the hem of the jumper, cupping a hand over Alex's crotch to feel how hard he is. The answer is: very. He smirks. 

"Hmm, and what are we going to do about this, eh?"

Alex looks slightly surprised, as if he hadn't even noticed his own arousal, so wrapped up in satisfying Greg. "Whatever you want to do with it, Sir," he says, and Greg notices something different in his voice, a softer, more slurred quality.

Greg pretends to think about it. He very much likes the idea that the decision is in his hands. He very much likes the idea of Alex having to leave the studio in this state, maybe still hard as he gets into his car and starts to drive home, aching and unsatisfied.

"You know, I think we'd both better be getting out of here," he says. "Not that you didn't do an excellent job, but you _have_ already come once this evening. Twice would just be greedy, wouldn't it?" 

Alex doesn't complain, doesn't even look _disappointed_ , just nods in agreement.

"Yeah, and you're not a greedy boy, are you? You'll take what you're given."

"Yes Sir."

 _Fuck_. This time instead of wanting to vacate the premises ASAP, Greg wishes they had all the time in the world to play around with this—it's addictive. He just wants to keep it going forever, and he can't help being slightly afraid of that feeling.

"You'll go home to your wife like a good boy," says Greg softly, "wearing my jumper, and you'll tell her all about what we've done and how much you loved it. And you'll use those pictures as a visual aid, won't you?"

It does make Greg feel a _little_ weird to think about Alex's wife seeing his dick, but it's not entirely the bad kind of weird, so he doesn't give it too much thought.

"Yes Sir," says Alex again, and Greg could just listen to him saying that on a loop, it's so delicious.

Greg hands Alex his phone back and sees how he hesitates like he wants to look at the pictures but decides to just tuck the phone into his pocket instead. Greg likes to think he won't see them until he's showing them to his wife, that he won't know just how dirty he looked until she's seeing it too. It's as if he doesn't want to give himself a chance to look at them first and feel self-conscious and doubtful, end up deleting them as a result.

Greg gets to his feet and helps Alex up, too, making sure he can stand and move about okay—he's been on his knees for an awfully long time this evening. He seems a little stiff, but it's nothing serious. 

"You'll be all right?" He can't help checking.

"Yes, mmhm," Alex affirms, already pottering about, clearing away their mugs and bundling up his stained jumper into a carrier bag. "I'll see you tomorrow."

God, Greg forgot about that, too wrapped up in tonight to think about the future. They're only a few episodes in, there's the whole rest of the series to record—three more days of sitting beside Alex, insulting him and torturing him in front of everybody. The thought makes his stomach clench. Now that they've engaged in such activities _privately_ , doing it with an audience seems obscene. 

"Yep," says Greg, turning towards the door. He really, really doesn't want to leave, and he doesn't know why, it feels like it'll break the spell; he wants to stay in this moment, in this weird little world they've created for themselves.

"Greg?" says Alex hesitantly, just as Greg's reaching for the lock.

"Mm?"

"Thank you." Alex looks awkward, fidgety. "I know it's probably obvious but I—I've wanted something like this for a while now and I—just, thank you, it's really—it's, er. It doesn't have to be anything more than this, whatever you want is fine, I just—I'm just happy we had tonight."

"Sap," says Greg, and Alex blushes, looking at the floor. "Listen—see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Greg unlocks the door, stepping outside into the cool, dim corridor. The truth is, he feels the same way. He may not have been as consciously aware of it as Alex, but he too has been wanting something like this for a long, long time, and it does feel utterly fantastic to finally have it out in the open. He really doesn't know how this is going to affect their professional relationship—a part of him feels like maybe it's safer not explore this any further for fear of compromising the show. After all, there's always been this one line that they never crossed, and now that they have, they're in unknown territory. It feels incredible to have finally broken that boundary, but it also feels dangerous, and as he heads back to his own dressing room he wonders if perhaps he ought to think of this little experiment as complete. He's found the answer to the question that's been nagging at him for years, and discovered some things about himself in the process. He's had his fun. Maybe he should be satisfied with that.

But then he thinks about Alex on his knees, Alex calling him _Sir_ , Alex wanting to be punished—and he knows he's never going to be able to resist pushing things further. It's in his nature, after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [desperate nervous twitch of a man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742956) by [Sashataakheru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru)




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